What Happens In The Final Lesson Of 4000 Essential English Words 1?

“Alex… I’m dying.” Amara’s trembling voice over the phone should have shaken her husband, but the renowned Dr. Alex Spencer simply replied, “Buy medicine and let me work.” The world envied their marriage to the perfect doctor, but behind closed doors, Amara carried every pain alone. Until the day she received two verdicts: brain cancer… and a divorce she signed with her own hands. She walked away, whispering, “This is the last meal I’ll ever cook for you,” leaving Alex furious and unable to accept the truth. And when he rushed into a house decorated with flowers and candles, her smiling picture greeted him instead. She was gone. He fell down, weeping like a child. But something still told him, this was all a setup. That Amara was still alive and he won’t rest until he finds her. Is Amara truly still alive? Read to find out!

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."

The class heartthrob, Kevin Mosley, who scores only 1000 in the SATs, claims that he has successfully enrolled at Starvard University and is just waiting for the semester to begin. He even guarantees that he can get the entire class admitted as well. The whole class starts cheering and praising him for being their hero. All of them intend to let him submit their college applications for them. But something about his story doesn't sound right to me, so I ask a few more questions. That's when I discover that his so-called exclusive admission internal channel is CloudAI, which is just an AI chatbot! It confidently tells him that it has already reserved a special admission slot for him and guarantees that he can report to Starvard University when the semester starts. Trying to help, I point out that the AI is just generating conversational responses and telling him what he wants to hear. My childhood friend, Janice Hudson, is the first to jump to his defense. "Daryl Greer, how can you doubt Kevin? He's trying to help the whole class. What's it to you?" My friend, Aaron Yates, chimes in as well. "Daryl, AI is cutting-edge technology. It's the future. You can't dismiss it just because you don't understand it." Their words rile everyone up. As the argument escalates, I am shoved down a flight of stairs. I hit my head and die on the spot. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back at the moment when Kevin proudly announces that he's been admitted to Starvard. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. This time, I'll simply respect their choices and wish them the best.

"You don't know how much control you have over me” He said to me. My father was a Korean rich business tycoon who relocated to America because of my mother. After the death of my mother, his undying love for her transferred to me. Thus, he made me the successor of all his wealth. With my signature, anyone can get access to his wealth. To prepare me for this great fortune, my father decided to hire me a tutor so I would be fluent in Korea. He thought I would be cheated by his Korean associate because I was not eloquent in the Korean language and culture. If only my father knew that this tutor only came to destroy me.

At my wife's birthday party, my daughter and son accidentally knocked over a bowl of soup and splashed it on their uncle. My wife grabbed his completely unharmed hand and tore into both children. But that still wasn't enough for her, so she locked the two of them inside the sauna. I called and begged her, again and again, to spare our kids. Her voice was ice cold. "Stop bothering me! This is your fault for raising them so badly! "Since they burned someone, they can sit in there and think hard about what they did!" The thermometer kept climbing. Blisters had already risen on my children's skin, and they wailed without stopping. I begged her to forgive them like a man gone mad. "They're little, they don't know any better. I'm begging you, let them out, or they'll die..." "Enough. You spoil these children so much you've made them lawless! "And don't you stand there playing crazy with me. A little heat like this won't kill anyone!"

The 100th time Dexter Carrington ditches me to help my best friend with her lab work, I write the final line in my diary and break up with him. Dexter is exasperated, to say the least. "I genuinely don't know how your amygdala is wired. Your emotions have completely bulldozed your rational thinking." My best friend, Brianna Holt, laughs. "That's cruel. You're insulting her intelligence in words she can't even understand." She's right. I don't understand. The two of them dominate the biology department rankings every year, taking first and second place, and are the kind of prodigies even their professors defer to. I'm just an ordinary student at the music school next door. When they talk about how cells have their own rhythms, the only thing I can think to ask is what time signature those rhythms are in. Dexter always hates that. "If you don't understand, don't chime in." So now I listen. I don't chime in anymore. Because the first page of this diary reads, "Today is my birthday, but Dexter chose to go over data with Brianna. "By the time this diary is full, I'm leaving him for good."